Enjoying the music through the tears

While looking at something else on-line, I see the progressive rock group, Kansas, was coming to Wichita Falls on September 21.

My love affair with the band began shortly after meeting my late husband. Coincidence? I think not – he was a native of the Sunflower State and the band was his all-time favorite. I purchased the cassette of their 1986 album, “Power,” soon after we began dating in earnest. I would have listened to William Shatner singing “Rocket Man” if I thought it would gain me brownie points with the tall guy who captured my heart.

While I enjoyed their hits from the 1980s, he had been a die-hard fan since the band’s inception in 1974. They were a true “garage band,” with the original members from Topeka, Kansas, just a two-hour’s drive from his hometown. As a child of the late '60s and early '70s, his love for the band was more than just a passing affection. With their deep-meaning lyrics, complex melodies and harmonies, and use of pre-synthesizer electronics, the band resonated with everything he stood for. For them to be fellow Kansans just made the whole thing perfect.

As our relationship grew, so did my appreciation for classic rock. I listened less and less to pop and disco beats, content to rock out to “Carry On, My Wayward Son,” “Aqualung,” or “Magic Carpet Ride” while in the car with him.

When he died, those songs, shared over the course of our quarter century together, took on even deeper meaning. “Dust in the Wind,” a classic Kansas ballad, first released in 1977, was his hands-down favorite. The acoustic guitars, the haunting melody, the melancholy yet perfect harmonies – all came together for the quintessentially perfect song.

Since his death, I’ve heard this song at times that are no coincidence. One of the first was while my sons and I were on vacation as a family of three, to Disney World, Christmas of 2011. After a long day at Disney Quest, a now-defunct indoor theme “park” of video games, we came out into the early darkness of Downtown Disney. A House of Blues venue, directly across the street, was beginning to bustle with the happy hour crowd. As we step onto the street, I hear it – the distinct acoustic guitar notes that open “Dust in the Wind.” There, directly in front of us, a lone guitar player, sitting in front of a microphone, with no crowd yet gathered, was strumming “our” song.

My tears fell, I won’t deny it. My sons, just 9 and 8 at the time, also realized the significance of that moment.

Fast forward six years. There is simply no way I am going to miss the band being in town. I needed to see them in person. I want to sit in the audience, hear those notes from two guitars at the same time, and be transported back to places and times among my most beloved memories.

A friend sees I am going alone and buys the seat next to me. She and I are as excited as high school teenagers as we walk into the venue. There the band members sit, all in tall bar-height chairs. Several are original to the band, so you can imagine the amount of grey hair sparkling in the set lights.

And although their average age has to be 65 or so, they have not missed a beat in 44 years. The singers’ voices are as clear and pure as they were in the beginning. We’re in the fourth row, I’m sure to get perfect video of my song when the time comes.

The time comes. The notes begin. I start my video recording. And then it happens: three inebriated women, old enough to know better, stand up directly in front of me, blocking my view.

I can hardly believe it. They have been drinking, talking loudly through songs, and being generally rude and inconsiderate to everyone around them since before the concert began. My friend encourages me to step out into the aisle to get a better view.

But I stayed right where I was and continued recording.

Even in the midst of three drunks, swaying, singing off key, and obstructing my view, the song still plays. It is beautiful, in spite of the distraction.

I refuse to let them sully the beauty of the song and its meaning to me.

And then it hits me. This incident is life, in a nutshell. We make meticulous plans, anticipation building until the event is upon us. In our minds, it all plays out perfectly. But more often than not, perfect doesn’t show up. And in the midst of crap happening, the song (life) continues to play. There’s still beauty in the melody, the harmonies and the words. It’s up to us to enjoy the song anyway.

I’ll forever remember the night Kansas played that song just for me. While my video isn’t appealing to the eye with three backsides in the way of my band, the audio is pretty much perfect. Try to enjoy the song every day – even when your view is obstructed.

Nancy Howell can be reached at njhowell415@gmail.com. She’s a native Kentuckian and adopted Texan, making her way as a solo parent to two teenage sons. She blogs at unimaginedjourney.com.